


No Rest for the Virtuous

by SilentApocalypse



Series: when this is over [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: "Children Won the War" AU, Fever, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentApocalypse/pseuds/SilentApocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, but that isn't the end. Family is difficult for Lucina. She doesn't want to hate any of them, but it's hard not to be bitter when they all seemed to abandon her just when things were tough. Luckily, friends can help support her through any hardship to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Rest for the Virtuous

Lucina spent a lot of the time she was supposed to be sleeping staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. Often she thought about practical concerns. She was the current exalt, after all, even if it was of a ruined Ylisse. It had been so long since she had run into people besides her comrades. She was starting to wonder if anyone else had even survived out there. There were legitimate concerns about how long they would be able to sustain themselves on their own as far as supplies went. They had planted the garden with vegetables and there were still fish in the rivers and some wildlife in the forests, but in the long term, she wasn’t sure that would be enough.

If there were more people out there, would those others be able to survive on their own? It was the job of the exalt to protect her people, after all, and given how destroyed the country was Lucina thought she had done a terrible job thus far. Should they be scouring the countryside for any hidden survivors? Did any even exist? Was it worth the effort, worth burdening the exhausted people she did have with her?

These practical concerns were something of a comfort to her. At least she could analyze and try to find solutions for those, even if they didn't come easily. It made her feel productive, grounded her in something solid. They weren’t what really scared her.

What she really hated thinking about was the past. That was done and over with and none of it could be changed. Dwelling on it was pointless or even detrimental. Thinking about whether doing this or that would have saved a village or maybe some of the Shepherds—someone’s parents—wasn’t going to make anything better. It only gave her headaches. But those sorts of thoughts were not dismissed easily, and she spent far more time on them than she would like to admit.

Thinking about her family was the most painful of all. The fight with Grima played in her head over and over, refusing to leave. Even in sleep it haunted her dreams: the feeling of claws slashing at her skin and of her sword tearing through dragon flesh; the sound of her mother’s voice and screams—not Mother, she tried to tell herself, just Grima, Mother would never have done any of that; and most of all, the part of herself that wasn’t happy while the others celebrated the end of the long battle, and the guilt that still tore at her insides from that feeling.

But that was only the start of it all. No matter what she tried to think about it would follow her into sleep. Her hazy recollections of her mother and father mixed with the horror of their fates to create terrifying nightmares. “I love you, Lucina,” her mother would say, and then her face would become warped and the warm arms that hugged her became claws and she could feel them sharp against her throat, ready to end it, to create a world where Lucina wasn’t around to fight Grima ( _and honestly would that world be any worse than this one_ ).

It wasn’t just her mother, either. “I’ll always be with you, Lucina,” her father would tell her, but his skin would start melting away even as she clutched his hand, muscle stripping down and blood turning to mist until all that was left was bone and even that ground away into nothing, leaving nothing but Falchion and a horde of Risen ( _you deserved better from him than one sword and a world of troubles_ ). She would try to fight but there would never be an end to them, and it was him who doomed her, she would think bitterly, him who promised to stand by her side and protect her through the years and him who failed her.

She felt horribly guilty about those dreams, knowing her father would have never, ever abandoned her if he had even the slightest say in it, but those weren’t the worst. Those were the dreams she had about Morgan, her little brother who had disappeared for months in the middle of the war and returned to them just after the end stripped of any memories. He was sweet and innocent and kind and only a monster could hate him, so of course she would in her dreams.

She would scream at him and call him a devil and blame him for everything that happened. Horrendous things would spill from her mouth: a pox on our house, worse than Mom, it would have been better if you had never been born. Sometimes he would cry and sometimes he would just smile and say he’d bear the hate if it would ease his dear sister’s pain and she wasn’t sure which one was worse. They both made her heart break and both made something hurt inside of her because there was the tiniest grain of truth in them ( _does it really matter how small that feeling is when it never would have crossed a good person’s mind_ ).

The truth was, in a small place deep inside of her she still resented him for running away, even though she had no idea what his reasons were. That part of herself she wasn’t the least bit proud of blamed him for fleeing from the pressures of command and being a young royal in wartime, pressures that had been shoved onto her shoulders. The worst bit hated him for escaping the trauma and pain they had all been scarred by ( _who are you kidding, it’s really only yourself you care about_ ).

Lucina tried to ward off sleep as much as possible, because at least when she was conscious she could try to deny her thoughts as soon as they came up. It did little good but was better than letting them fester in a dream, burying deep into her heart until she woke up gasping for air that never chased away the pain in her chest.

When it got late enough in the morning no one would tell her to go back to bed, she slipped out into the hallway and into the kitchen. Cynthia would usually be out there too, looking put together like she had already been up for hours. “Those are some dark circles you got there,” she said one morning, frowning as she sliced potatoes. She stopped short of asking if everything was okay, both because it was obvious it wasn’t and because confronting each other about how badly they were coping just wasn’t something any of them did.

“We’ve all been busy,” Inigo said with an easy smile. He pressed a mug of coffee into her hands. “Caffeine will perk you up, I’m sure.”

He could see her problems more clearly than anyone else, much like she could see his smile was fake. Inigo was good at lying but she had known him long enough to see the subtle difference. Still, he was trying to cheer her up and so for him she pasted on a smile of her own as she accepted the warm drink. “Thank you.”

“Naturally. Anything for you, Lucy,” he replied with a slight bow, using the old nickname he had stuck on her when they were just children. Cynthia frowned again and then elbowed him gently in the arm, and he reeled back, pretending to be hurt. They all laughed, and it was hollow but they were trying.

But the caffeine could only do so much, and only sleeping fitfully was bound to catch up with her after a while. She woke up a few mornings later with a fever so strong she felt dizzy just sitting up. She had barely managed to stumble into the hall before Brady stopped her. “Infirmary. Now.” He wasn’t quite awake yet, but it was obvious she was sick just looking at her.

He made her lie down in a cot and swallow some bitter medicine before telling her to get some rest. She wanted to protest, given how much she had grown to resist sleep, but she was just so tired. Her eyelids betrayed her, dropping down and forcing her into a world of darkness.

It was all swirling together, all her worst fears. In her hazy fever-fueled dreams her whole family was there. Her mother grinned in that unpleasant Grima way that was more of a leer and, in a whisper that made her feel slimy on the inside, told her she was weak. Her father looked at her with sad, distant eyes, mumbling about what a disappointment she was, and no matter how hard she ran she couldn’t reach him. Then there was Morgan, sweet, innocent Morgan, and he said no matter how much she hated him he would always love her and that made everything hurt so much worse.

She came to with a jolt, taking pained, heavy breaths that did little to calm her frayed nerves. Her skin was slick with fear sweat and her fevered mind made getting a grip on herself nearly impossible.

“Lucy, I’m right here. It was just a nightmare. You’re going to be all right.” It was Inigo’s voice and his hand on her shoulder, but everything was so hazy she couldn’t quite recognize him.

“Stop it.” Her voice was hoarse, her words slurring together. “Everything would have been easier if no one cared to begin with. You’re just going to leave. Everyone leaves.” ( _And sometimes they come back but you’re not really sure if that’s any better.)_

His other hand gripped her sweaty palm so tight it hurt. “I won’t. I promise. I’m going to stay right here."

She was too tired to argue and instead closed her eyes again. This time she dreamed of a boy who showed her how to dance and learned to wield a sword alongside her, who threw himself in front of her countless times to protect her, who encouraged her to always smile even when both of their hearts were breaking. She dreamed of sleepless nights that weren’t terrible because they were spent with another person and nightmares that weren’t scary because when she woke up sweaty and shaking there was someone there to squeeze her hand and tell her she was okay.

And when she woke up, really woke up with her fever low enough that she was fully aware, she realized that even if she had pieces of hate and darkness strewn throughout her, there was so much love and light in her heart. It wouldn’t be easy to have unshakable faith in the goodness within herself, but she could trust in the goodness of her companions as a start. Perhaps leaning on her friends to get her through tough times wasn’t very exalt-like, but when had she ever claimed to be?

She smiled down at Inigo, who was asleep with his head resting on her stomach, and thought she couldn’t have asked for better people to have by her side.

“It’s not even his shift.” Lucina looked up, startled by the voice. Severa sat on another cot in the corner of the room with her arms crossed. “It’s mine. But he insisted on staying for some stupid reason and then he fell asleep. Inigo is such a moron.”

She grinned more widely because even if the sour-faced girl said that, she was the one who agreed to let him stay. Though Severa enjoyed complaining about them all and denying open displays of affection, it was obvious she cared just as much as they did. It was like her own way of saying she was worried.

“What are you so cheerful about? Are you daft? Or more likely you’re still delirious,” the girl scoffed.

“I’m just glad to have you both here.”

Severa flushed slightly and suddenly became very interested in the floorboards. “You’re both idiots,” she said, but there was more than a trace of fondness in her voice.

They let Lucina out of the infirmary to eat dinner with the rest of them that night. She still didn’t feel quite up to par but seeing the smiles on their faces at how much better she looked made her feel stronger by the minute.

Then her little brother, sweet, innocent Morgan, wrapped her in a hug as she walked back to her room and told her how worried he had been and how glad he was that she felt better. She smiled and ruffled his hair and said she loved him, and she could feel the truth of it in her heart. No matter what dark thoughts came to her in the depths of her fears, she knew she adored her little brother and wanted to protect him no matter what happened.

Seeing everyone happy made her happy and that was what she decided to tell herself whenever the fear and doubts crept up on her again. It wouldn’t stop the nightmares and it wouldn’t stop the thoughts spinning in her head, but it would certainly make them easier to bear. It made her believe that someday she might not hurt any more, and that was more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Platonic best friends since childhood Inigo and Lucina is a favorite of mine. I like to imagine she would be the only girl he's actually able to speak to normally.


End file.
